


Workin' Out

by Shatterpath



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a summer heat wave, Regina has a run in with Emma that changes her perspective on the interloper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Workin' Out

I don't wonder what the hell Emma Swan does with her mornings, or afternoons, or evenings. I have no interest is what she does with herself and her time. Really, I don't.

I don't wonder how she keeps that lanky, whipcord figure, particularly with how she eats, maintaining lovely curves highlighted by those painted on jeans and sleeveless tops low across her upper chest.

This horrid heat wave is the cause for all this mental wandering and inattention while I’m doing anything. Really...

It's that heat-induced heat that makes me chirp the tires of the elegant Mercedes at the crosswalk, narrowly avoiding bumping my nemesis. There's some reactionary irritation when she presses both hands to the gleaming hood and looks at me levelly, her eyes glittering in the near-dark.

Not the reaction I would have expected to nearly being run over.

In this one case, her usual anger and lack of control might be justified. Might. Not that she appears to be winding up for a row. And I can't blame her, because I can't muster up my usual prickly armor either. I blame the early morning-- in mid summer it's barely light out at 430-- and the fact that it hasn't cooled off in days. I haven’t done more than catnap in days, overwhelmed by the heat, exactly as every air conditioning unit in town seems to have done.

Both of us startle as the car coughs and dies.

"What the hell?"

Turning the key has a much effect as cursing at the damn car. Absolutely nothing. Wonderful, now my only source of cool air has just left me bereft.

"Need a hand?"

Startled at Swan's voice so close, I turn my head only to be floored by an unexpected sight. Now, I’ve secretly admired the woman's usual mode of dress, but it has only teased at the physique beneath. Surprisingly defined musculature harmonizes with her lanky build and well-formed breasts, barely held in check within dark spandex. 

But I'm not noticing, dammit!

Shaking off the uncomfortable fascination, I jerk my gaze up to meet hers, far too close. In the growing light of dawn, those piercing eyes are a mossy green.

"Um, yes. The engine seems to have died."

"Not restarting, hmm?"

Who could guess we can actually be civil?

"No."

"Okay," she says briskly, standing once more to flash that stunning midriff, the tight shorts low on her hard abdomen. "Hop out."

"Excuse me?"

Even to my own ears, I sound baffled and not annoyed at her bossiness. The quirky grin on that striking face works some magic and some part of me is horrified to find myself grinning back.

"Well, I can't leave you in the middle of the street, can I? So, you guide and give me a hand while I push. And be ready to jump in and nail that brake pedal."

Something about the way she says 'nail' makes me shiver. Must be the sudden transition from the cool interior of the car to the warm outside air. Right, that's it. Not those enticing green eyes and that oddly playful smile.

"Just leave the door open and push on that."

The Mercedes is a decent sized car, well-appointed with extras and built solidly. But it cannot resist Emma's strength. With a grunt of effort, she heaves against the trunk and I quickly add in what capability I have. Tires crunching over the small damages in the asphalt-- I'll have to get those fixed-- the car reluctantly obeys my twist on the wheel, aiming it for an open space at the curb.

Really, does she have to make those guttural noises?

"Brakes! Dammit, 'Gina, brakes!"

Distracted, I’ve failed to notice that my car is nearly atop a darkly-painted Honda. Scrambling, I manage to hop in and slam the brake pedal, bashing my hip painfully into the steering wheel.

"Nice save. Now, the hard part. Can you crank the wheel the other way?"

"Why is it fighting me so hard?" Ugh, do I really sound that whiny and petulant? I'm not used to this reliable machine being a pain, and my hip is throbbing agonizingly.

"Power steering sucks when the power's out. One good thing about my beat up old bug. That, and it's lighter. Got it?"

"No," I growl through gritted teeth, wrestling with the steering wheel. I pull away in shock for a moment when Emma is suddenly at the window again, muscled arms adding in their strength to the task. "Thank you."

"No prob. Let me get set up and you can get off the brake."

Really, what is wrong with me? Why does everything she says and does this morning somehow seem... suggestive? And not in an unfavorable way...

"Okay, let me have it!"

I heard the effort, intellectually understood it, but now I get to watch. Flat, hard muscles bunched with effort, Emma somehow bests the weight of my car, the faint incline and the power of gravity. I can't argue that she's magnificent. Shaking herself out as I set the parking brake and grab my purse and keys, she's clearly and justifiably proud of her success.

My traitorous smile fades when I twist and drop my feet to the pavement. Pain lances outward from my hip and upper thigh like sheet lightning, making me cry out. Dammit, it's only pain! How weak I've grown here, away from familiar dangers.

"Yeah, I thought I saw you land badly when you jumped in. Take my hands. You can argue at me later, because I’m not leaving you here. Granny's is right around the corner."

Really, what is wrong with me? Like some sort of placid commoner, I do as I’m told, placing my hands in hers. With a careful tug, the steering wheel only lightly brushing my sore flesh, she lets go with one hand to lean in close...

So close.

Warm with the scents of healthy sweat and baby powder, she wraps a powerful arm around my back, tickling silky hair over my face. "Keep your head down, Regina. That's it. And up!"

Frazzled by her closeness and the sound of my name on Emma's lips, I’m suddenly on my feet, pressed disconcertingly tight to her well-toned body I’ve admired for so long. With gentle manhandling, I am moved away from the bulk of the car.

"It's your hip, right? I'm not pressing sore spots?"

"Why are you being so nice?"

Yes, I really did just so tactlessly blurt that out, my tone vulnerable.

"Sheriff, Henry, not wanting to fight anymore, all of the above? Take your pick."

There is no hesitation to the reply, her voice soft. Something has changed between us, even I am not fool enough to miss it.

"Thank you," I whisper, lost in those enticing eyes. Really, what else can I say?


End file.
